Well, some smart apples a hundred years ago figured out that there is a such a thing as these things, so they started naming them according to their descriptions. Electrons are electric, neutrons are neutered, and protons are proteins. You know, common sense stuff.

Well, what happened after that was, some other smart apple came along and started taking well enough and throwing it into a crowd, and suddenly we have textbooks that say electrons are inherently negative, because getting electrocuted is bad, and that's negative, I guess. They just had to go and get personal with an electron.

And we can't say neutrons are neutered anymore, because that's politically incorrect, because dogs and cats are people too... whatever. So now we have to say that neutrons are neutral. I mean, it's the same difference, ain't it? Neuter, neutral... whatever, it comes out in the wash meaning the same dadgum thing.

And don't all proteins, every last ever loving one of them, have protons as one of their essential ingredients? Huh? Tell me I'm not right! Show me a protein that doesn't have a proton in it, and I'll show you a pork pie hat made out of pork pot pie and baked into the shape of a fedora and worn by a porgy and applauded by a bess, just like tweren't nuthin but a thang about it at all (and they should be called protReins, because Tron is the root word of awesome, by the way).

So what do they do to the proton? Not only do they forcibly rip away the Tron...

Oh boy. Ok, gimme a sec to take a couple of deep breaths so I don't go splitting atoms here.

Alright. Firstly, before I shed light on this atrocity... they say that the reason its called a proton is because it has a positive charge. I mean, it's not just an arbitrary name, is it? Proton? There has to be some correlation between the name of the thing and the property of the thing, right? Like pro means positive, I guess? Right? Haven't I just demonstrated that concept with the electron and the neutron? Yeah, whatever, about them screwing up the names... they were still following a recognizable system, however flawed. Like pro for positive. Like an analogy that a third grade teacher in a one horse town would come up with... it's clumsy and ignorant, but at least it balances.

But the proton... and the electron too, as a matter of fact, now that I think about it... damn it, I'll just come right out and say it. The proton should be called a positron, and the electron should be called a negatron!

If you weren't just an idiotic integrated circuit, then maybe you would understand how bringing up the name of an evil transformer has absolutely nothing to do with what these words are all about... with what they MEAN, man! You can't just go making suggestions for spelling corrections all willy nilly... you've got to consider the CONTEXT surrounding the word that you're trying to auto-spell!

Anyway, dammit...

Right? Right?? Who's with me? I mean, why does an anti-electron get to be called a positron, instead of an anti-negatron? Which was discovered first? Or, more importantly... which are there more of in the universe, PERIOD?

There are so obviously more electrons (negatrons) than positrons (anti-negatrons). So why does the opposite of an electron get to be called a positron???

Tuesday, November 24, 2015

I feel compelled... that is, I have to say something about it. I must attempt to communicate the experience. I don't yearn to share it... the essence of it yearns to be shared. And the yearning of it compels me to try.

It's like this... it's like something a newborn baby would dream, the first time it slept, and the first dream it dreamt. That's what it looks like, the thing that's got me worked up.

It's... but looking at it makes me feel old, like just the seeing of it forces the roots of it right into me, and the receiving of it is like... knowing the end of something. Something vast. But that's all I can see... the end of it. And it makes me feel so old...

And if beauty can be found in anything, then I use that justification to support the description and the feeling of what I'm seeing, which is meaningless beauty. Being poleaxed by the majesty of the ending of an ancient thing, without knowing or understanding the substance of it, or the history of it, or the life of it or the essence of it, or the meaning of it.

Just the end of it, and it's hammering my awareness like the gamma rays that a hydrogen bomb slams rudely and forcefully and absurdly into violent existence. But it's still there, the thing I'm all worked up about.

I look at it now and then again, and it's always an oldness. What it does to me, is it conveys to me a feeling of never having to breathe again, and being ok with that, and just accepting it without panic.

Two Mexicans on scooters are riding down the highway, a man and a woman, middle-aged, dumpy. She's following behind him, then he tips over and takes a spill, and she stops. He gets up and walks angrily back to his scooter, as if the wreck was her fault, and he picks up his scooter and hits the woman with it and knocks her off of her own scooter. Then he walks over to her and kicks her in the head.

She's in a daze but she manages to get to her feet. He picks up a heavy piece of junk from a nearby pile and hits her in the chest with it, knocking her back down. She falls onto an old sofa that's in the junk pile. He picks up an old board from the pile of junk. It's jagged on one end, and he walks over to her with the intent of stabbing her with it. She's big and strong, so she picks up the couch and blocks the thrust and then heaves it at the guy. He takes off running into an adjacent field and into a ravine and she runs after him, more concerned than angry.

He scales a cliff wall on the other side of the ravine. She finds an old disused ladder and props it up against the cliff and climbs up after him. As I'm watching this I'm trying to think to the woman, no, no, no, he's going to push the ladder, don't climb up there, he's going to push the ladder away from the cliff and you're going to fall, but she keeps climbing up, and I'm thinking to myself, how does she not know what's going to happen?

When she gets nearly to the top he pushes the ladder away from the cliff and she falls backwards and lands against another cliff wall. The ladder falls away, and she's stable for a moment, but she begins to slide down the cliff face, and then she falls forward in earnest. She falls face first for a long time, screaming and flailing, and I find it hard to continue watching even though it's a dream. I know this is going to end badly. I'm shocked, because just five minutes ago they were riding their scooters down the highway and nothing was wrong at all, and now this woman is faced with her imminent death.

As she falls, she flips over, and I think she's going to land heavily on her back, but she lands in a thicket of dead trees and is impaled through her back and out through the sternum by a sharp branch. She screams and struggles and screams and screams and screams and its just horrible, the most horrible thing I've ever dreamed. I can see every detail. Every tiny single little detail. The angle of her legs as she hangs there, with little splotches of blood on her blue jeans, the slight bouncing movement of her limbs as she flails and struggles weakly. Her white t-shirt with the jagged end of a tree branch protruding from it, with a growing red stain expanding outward. The horrified look on her face and her wide open eyes as she stares straight upward and just screams and screams with her mouth wide open, in such pain, enduring such pain.

I'm actually fighting back tears as I input these words, grieving for the suffering of a woman who isn't even real, just a figment of a dream. Can you believe that? I've never had a dream this horrible, this detailed, this visceral.

As I watch all of this in my dream, I'm hoping that she'll die soon. That she'll die very very soon and that it will be over and her suffering will end, but she doesn't, and she just continues thrashing and screaming. To make it worse, my dream camera zooms in for an extreme close up of the point of impalement, and I can see a previously unnoticed side branch that has traveled through the back of her neck and exits right under her chin. Her situation is unimaginable, unthinkable, impossible, but there it is, there it is, there it is there it is there it is

Then it became something I was watching on TV, and dad got up and changed the channel. And I was disappointed. And I hate myself for feeling that way. It was just a dream but I hate myself for feeling that way.

And then I collapsed onto the frikin floor and, jeez.. I don't think anything can prepare you for the sight of a part of yourself having been impaled, run through, from one side of a part of you to the other side of that same part of you.

THAT'S WHAT HAS HAPPENED TO MY PINKIE TOE DAMMIT, A PAPER CLIP, SHOVED STRAIGHT THROUGH, IN ONE SIDE AND OUT THE OTHER OH! FU....!

DAMMIT! ! ! Z. !

Ok. I'm in little bit of shock. It ain't every day that you see a piece of yourself run through from one side to the other with a piece of metal. I can't find the paper clip. I yanked it out. I didn't even feel it when I did that, although I was expecting it to hurt like hell.

I couldn't believe what I was looking at, before I yanked it out. Not a special effect. Not part of the storyline. No budget at all. In one side, and out the other. I sat there and howled something awful for about two and a half minutes. I sounded like a wounded animal, for quite a little bit of a while.

It's kind of funny, now that I think about it after the fact, but it still sucks though. Oh, and it hurts too.

Dammit. What the F.

Ok, here's a picture of the blood from it. Dayum, but didn't it spurt. Look at the spurt marks.

Distraction from Imminent Despair

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Zounds cried the astounded clown in a gown who was bound for down town as he frowned at the resounding sound of the renowned crown that he'd found as it wound up on a round mound surrounded by abounding brown ground near his half drowned hound from around the pound. Meh.